


Apply Pressure

by Forevercurse



Category: The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: Blood, Blood and Injury, During Canon, Established Relationship, F/F, Head Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene, POV Gideon Nav, Spot the mitski lyric, jock rights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:02:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29636436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forevercurse/pseuds/Forevercurse
Summary: Where Gideon is an idiot jock, definitely has a concussion, and admires her caretaker.
Relationships: Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus
Comments: 9
Kudos: 66





	Apply Pressure

“Gideon don’t you dare move or I’ll have your liver for dinner.” Harrow griped. “One more move and you’re dead so help me lord and The Emperor Undying.”

Gideon’s head throbbed, boiling blood coursing through her veins and down her cheek, pooling in the crevasse of her clavicle. The ringing had stopped, the pain, still red-hot and swimming, had definitely not.

Dizzy and warm, she was unsure if there were chips of skull muddled around in her brain matter, at this point she didn’t care. All that mattered was that she lay perfectly mummified and still. Harrow would have her throat otherwise. 

Bright white light from Canaan house’s horrible wire chandeliers shined overhead. She saw spots as she closed her eyes. She thought _if she was going to die it would be not so terrible to die with a bitchy groany gremlin taking care of you._ She shook away that idea and saved it for a rainy day, if she were ever to see the rain again. 

Gideon opened her mouth to speak; and knew that if Harrow had an available hand that _wasn’t_ pressing soiled gauze to the top left of her frontal lobe, that she would shut her up with her own fist. “Harrow, a little softer, I think you’re squeezing my brain out.”

“I am not. I would know.”

Gideon let out a small chuckle. It hurt. 

She heard an echo of two voices from outside the door. Sixth? No. Fifth. Discussing blood loss and the dangers of workout equipment and all that boring stuff. Their muffled words sank in and out of barely audible. 

The air was hazy, thick and smelled of iron. She breathed in deep, a sharpness assaulted her sinuses. She wanted to weep. Her head felt as if it were splitting open. 

She looked towards the girl tending to her stupidity. Her short cropped hair was pinned back at the temples with two bone-white pins. Gideon wasn’t sure when it got so long. Ears punched with those familiar self-given piercings, two on each upper ear, two on the lower, followed, of course by the thick, tapered bone swirls that hung from her lobes. 

Cheeks sharp and severe and absolutely slathered in grease paint; of which Harrow always did an immaculate job with powdering down when she was finished applying. It had hardly budged today despite the stress-induced sweat, caused by the stress-inducing idiot. 

“This is by far the worst headache I’ve ever had.”

“It’s going to be a lot worse if you keep talking.”

“I have to make sure I still can.” Gideon smirked. 

“Always the dramature,” said Harrow, flicking her deep black eyes back and forth between Gideon’s and the big, gaping head wound. Gideon felt burning drips find their way to the back of her ears. 

_God, I’m gonna have to bleach all these sheets when I’m through with them._ Her own thoughts droning on in her head. Her body lay flat on the hard cot, which she wished to be a little bit softer, especially now. Who knew how long she’d be lying there after this. 

_Being a jock really fucks you up sometimes._ She marveled at her own idiocy. It was a slip up, not the end of the world. She hoped. It’s not like she tried to do a triple backflip somersault 360 kick combo or something. The misjudgment of placing down a dumbbell or grabbing the weight wrong after a lift, hell; even tripping over after a dizzy spell during a shadow boxing session was a better excuse than the one she had. 

Handstand push-ups seemed like a good idea until they weren’t, until she didn’t warm up a shoulder properly. One stupid nerve sent a shock of static through her arm, landing her straight to the floor and straight to her bed covered in blood and bandages. First came the ringing, then came the dripping blood, and pain, and more blood. Then came calloused hands applying pressure, and calming breathing exercises that didn’t work. Then came Harrowhark Nonagesimus. 

She was walking with Abigail and heard her name from the hall. Gideon, still upright, sauntering towards them like she didn’t have a trail of blood following her down the white stone floors. 

Harrow pulled the current batch of gauze away from rust colored hair, streaks of it now slicked in fiery red. Soaked. It was disgusting. 

“Griddle you have so much blood lord have mercy on you.”   
  


“Head injuries are so dramatic,” Gideon joked. 

Harrow looked almost sad, tight mouth almost smiling. Gideon gave her a lopsided grin. 

Harrow tossed the now red clump of fabric into the bin next to her and cut off an unused piece. She pressed down once more, sending a fresh fire through Gideon’s skull. She was a forest fire. Her necromancer leaned forward and Gideon was set ablaze, and Harrow was a witness watching. 

With her free hand, Harrow wet a towel and dabbed it at Gideon’s forehead. She winced. She wiped away a deep crimson from her temple and pressed at her cheeks. “Lift your chin,” she said in a low murmur. 

Gideon tilted her head as Harrow gently cleared dried blood from her skin, patting at her neck. Gideon felt her cold fingers brush her jaw, scrubbing away the proof of her being the least graceful mortal to step foot in this ancient palace. Gideon closed her eyes, head spinning and eyes burning. 

She listened to her own breathing like an echo. She felt her heart beating in her chest, still pumping raw adrenaline to all corners of her motionless body. Synapses firing, pain pushing against her skull. She exhaled slowly, remembered that she was only flesh and blood, and looked up. 

The girl with the pitch black eyes met hers. “Nav, I’m sorry,” Harrow said with an honesty that shook Gideon to her core; an honesty that she clung on to like a trance. She never wanted to forget hearing that tone in her voice; gentle and soothing. It was a song, and it was her favorite. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> A short piece inspired unfortunately by a very similar personal experience, except without the romanticism. I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Please take caution during exercise. Don’t be like Gideon.


End file.
